Will freedom of press replace gossip?

JAKARTA (JP): My weekly visit to the mall is not just for shopping, but also for a visit to my hairdresser. My hairdresser is the old-fashioned unisex type, where people of both sexes can get their hair done by male or female stylist of their choice all in the same space.

I have received many invitations to go to newer and better ones, with modern comforts and special sections for men and women, but no, I stay with my old salon, even though other clients' smoking sometimes bothers me.

The reason is not only that my stylist does it better, but I also have special needs. In the first place I prefer a male stylist because I need his flattering words, like: "Tante (aunt) you look so bright today, is it your birthday?" Or he may compliment me on my dress by telling me it's just right for me and the colors match my hair so well.

There is something special that I go there for, which used to be one of the sources of extra information in the days prior to freedom of the press: the gossip. Nowhere else can you get more juicy and funny gossip than from these hairdressers. He used to say jokingly that hairdressing was his business and gossip was a bonus.

His bits of gossip have always been first class. Not because it involved the former first family, but because it is usually gems that nobody has ever heard. He usually adds a little philosophy in his remarks that beats the best social criticism. If he was in Hollywood he might be able to fill a gossip column like Elsa Maxwell or Sheila Graham, or if he was in Washington DC he could fill the Washington Whisper column. If he could write he could possibly even outdo Kitty Kelly.

He usually starts with whispering in my ear: "Have you heard the latest scandal?" Then he tells me the gossip, such as the one about a lucky woman who will finally get married, even though her child is already attending kindergarten.

I would never have known the people who were involved in the drug trade or even the names of the drugs, or the names they are known by here, like shabu-shabu (crystal methamphetamine) or ecstasy. But now I am as familiar with them as I am with my daily makeup kit. There is practically a whole encyclopedia full of juicy bits of scandal concerning people around me. I could publish a Who's Who of the mistresses, with whom they sleep and where they built their new mansions.

A few months ago it was about spending. "It's amazing how much money is spent on jewelry, Bulgari, Cartier, Tiffany, you name it and they buy it," he complained.

"People have done it all the time," I remarked. "I know lots of people who only buy expensive jewelry, some even take pride in calling themselves collectors."

"That's different," he answered, shaking his head, "a few years ago we were rich, nobody cared what you bought. You would even be chided for not spending money, but now we are poor. Besides, this is the time of reform and krismon! People are hungry and people want justice. And they are so stupid, they make most payments by cash, hundreds of thousands of greenbacks all in cash!"

"You mean that they take their greenbacks in cash with them when they travel to the States? Tens of thousands? What about customs regulations and pickpockets?"

"Tens of thousands, Tante you must be kidding! They take hundreds of thousands with them or maybe millions! There are people who are above the law, they can never get caught and their bodyguards scare off any pickpockets."

When I visited him last time he had much less to tell me and I asked him why. He shook his head and said. "All this freedom of the press is taking the business away from me. If it is not in the usual papers, the tabloids will publish it or people may buy the photocopies. And then there is something new, the something Net or the Web, I don't understand what it is, but now my clients know more than I do about the scandals, the divorces, the drugs, all of the things that I used to tell them."

"But you are a better storyteller and a good hairstylist," I said in an attempt to comfort him. He just shook his head and said solemnly: "Yes, but there is one thing with which they beat me, always. They give their readers a special bonus: nice pictures of beautiful girls supposedly wearing body stockings. But poor me, the gossip used to be the bonus I gave to my clients, what more do I have to offer?"

-- Myra Sidharta